Life Is Never Fair
by silver-kin
Summary: Things never turn out the way we want them to. (Warning for non-consensual kissing)
1. and you never noticed

Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace does not belong to me.

**Life Is Never Fair 01 - and you never noticed**

During his first club practice of his second year, Tanba has the terrible misfortune of meeting one Miyuki Kazuya.

Arrogant, rude, unpleasant bastard with the shit-eating smirk and his dishonest words and fake gestures. Tanba takes one look at him and immediately hates his guts.

And since he hates him so much, it was only to be expected that the coach call him over in the middle of practice, and tells him to pair up with first-year for some tentative battery practice. "I just want to see how well you two can work together," he says, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Pleased to meet you, Tanba-san," the first-year says, grinning wide and showing teeth.

Tanba wants to break his nose. "There's no need," he replies in lieu of an introduction, fighting to keep his voice level. "We already have a catcher."

It's the wrong thing to say. He knows it the instant the words leave his mouth, and feels the coach's glare burn several shades hotter, completely silent.

The newbie doesn't even miss a beat, though. "Aw, come on!" he says, grin morphing into a smirk. "You won't know how good I am if you don't give me a chance."

He very nearly punches him then, feels his arm twitch against his better judgement.

The other boy notices it, because his eyes dart down to Tanba's hand, where his fingers have curled into a tight fist. His smirk hitches wider, almost taunting. "What's the matter?" he asks, voice honeyed with false puzzlement, and god, Tanba has never wanted to hit anyone this much. He almost doesn't care that the coach is standing right there, still seething with displeasure.

A hand lands on his back, and Tanba jerks around.

Chris smiles at him, warm and soothing. "Go on," he says, and Tanba can feel fingers flattening on his shoulder blade. "Show him what you can do."

He stiffens, grits his teeth, and nods.

* * *

Tanba throws ten pitches, all curveballs, each one faster than the last.

Miyuki catches every single one of them.

At the end of it, he takes off his face protector and grins, all cocky confidence.

Tanba wants to throw up.

* * *

For the rest of the year, he loathes the bespectacled catcher with all his might. He watches Miyuki soar into the first string team, making the achievement seem as easy as breathing, when he himself had to struggle for months to get to where he is now. He feels nauseous when Miyuki smiles and smirks at the other second years and their third year seniors. He sulks and hates and seethes whenever he catches the first year with Chris, discussing pitchers and debating strategies. And he definitely does _not_ think about strangling him when Miyuki comments on his not-so-great control.

"Insolent jerk," he spits out. "As if I didn't already know that."

"You really dislike him, don't you?" Chris muses during dinner, looking thoughtful.

"Yes," he answers curtly. He sees no point in denying it.

Chris chuckles. The sound sends a surge of heat through his chest, warm and delightful; Tanba quickly gulps down a few mouthfuls of water.

"Well," the catcher finally says, "it can't hurt to at least _try_ to get along. Who knows, maybe you two might become good friends."

The notion is so ridiculous that Tanba tries to snort and laugh at the same time, and only succeeds in choking on his drink.

He spends the next few minutes coughing up his lungs, cheeks burning with embarrassment, as the other boy pats him on the back, laughing quietly the entire time.

There isn't much of a reason for it, Tanba acknowledges later, as he gets ready to turn in for the night. If someone were to ask him why, he wouldn't be able to give them an answer, only that the very mention of Miyuki Kazuya has him clenching his jaw in irritation.

The guy pisses him off. That's all there is to it.

But they're on the same team, which means they're fighting together, not against each other. Like it or not, Tanba is stuck with him for the unforeseeable future, and there's nothing he can do about it. Besides, Chris is probably right; he should at least try to make an effort. After all, it's not like Miyuki is going to be catching in real games anyway, not as long as Chris is around. All Tanba has to do is occasionally tolerate him during practice matches, and ignore him every other day. Easy.

* * *

The ball bounces once, twice, drops to the ground and rolls to a stop.

Chris falls to his knees on the field, clutching at his shoulder, his entire face contorted in an expression of pain and frustration and anger. The sight is so strange, so alien on the other boy's face that Tanba panics, drops his mitt and rushes over immediately. He bends down in front of the catcher, heart pounding against his ribcage. "What's wrong?"

But the other boy only shakes his head, and says nothing.

An icy coldness settles into his shoulders, spreads like a winter breeze through his blood, and he is suddenly very, very afraid. "Chris?"

"I'm fine," the catcher manages through gritted teeth. "Everything's fine. Just need to catch my breath."

"Bullshit!"

Tanba flinches, surprised, and looks up to see Azuma-senpai looming over them both. A small crowd has gathered around them, a congregation of concerned teammates, and one Coach Kataoka.

"You're not fine," he continues. "Anyone can see that."

"Chris," the coach says. "Are you hurt?"

He hesitates, inhales once as if about to speak, but no answer comes.

The expression of the coach's face is grim. "Isashiki, call an ambulance. We need to get him to a hospital."

"No!" Chris looks up, eyes wide and scared. "Kantoku, I can still play!"

"You're going to the hospital," the coach repeats firmly. "Miyuki will fill in for you."

At that, the catcher squeezes his eyes shut, bites his lip and lowers his head. He doesn't protest when the captain helps him to his feet, doesn't resist when they lead him off the field. Tanba doesn't even realise he's staring until someone nudges his arm, and tells him to get back to the mound.

He turns, feeling dazed, and walks slowly over to where he dropped his mitt earlier. As he bends to pick it up, he sees Miyuki standing outside the dugout, strapping on his gear.

His throat constricts, the corner of his eyes hurt; Tanba really, really hates him.

* * *

It doesn't get better. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months.

He hates Miyuki, when Chris gets demoted to the second string team, and Miyuki is suddenly very possibly Seidou's starting catcher.

He hates Miyuki, when Chris brushes off all of Tanba's attempts at conversations, and withdraws from the entire team, going further and further into himself. His eyes dim, his jaw goes rigid, and all the gentility he has come to know from the other boy fades into the past, leaving an untouchable space between them.

During one of his evening jogs, Tanba looks up at the orange sky hanging above him, and wonders when he last saw Chris smile. The thought has him skidding to an abrupt stop, muscles throbbing in protest, as realises he might never see the other boy smile again.

It's a terrifying notion.

* * *

A year passes. Tanba begins his third and last year at Seidou. He's still struggling to keep the mound, still trying to meet the coach's expectations. His neck hurts, he can never get a good night's sleep, and he's constantly, inexplicably frustrated. There is an emptiness residing within him, deep in the very centre of his core, wide and gaping.

Chris still won't talk to him. Miyuki is still a regular.

Tanba still hates him.

* * *

And then, one day, he realises he might not hate Miyuki quite as much as before. Not anymore.

Because Chris is smiling at the first year southpaw.

The expression is small, only a shadow of what it used to be, but Tanba hasn't seen it in such a long time that it makes his knees weak, and his chest ache with an emotion he refuses to name.

He doesn't hate Sawamura when Chris catches for him. He doesn't hate Sawamura when the first year makes loud, obnoxious attempts at conversation with the catcher, and Chris actually replies quietly, every time. He doesn't hate Sawamura, when the boy tries to stop in mid-jog to talk, unbalances, flails and stumbles into a clumsy heap of limbs, and Chris _laughs,_ low and sweet.

Tanba doesn't hate him, but he very nearly does.

* * *

_'It's not fair,'_ he thinks, wiping himself dry after a bath. The three words cycle endlessly in his mind, an accursed mantra as he puts on his clothes and dumps the wet towels into the waiting basket. His thoughts are loud and accusing, have been for weeks now, and it is extremely annoying.

Tanba sighs, leans his head against the wall. He's so very tired, and all he wants is a few hours of rest, so he can wake up feeling refreshed and ready for practice. These days, he barely has the energy to drag himself out of bed.

Behind him, the wooden door slides open. There is a brief pause of surprise, before someone says, "Tanba."

His heart stutters; he curses internally, and turns around.

Chris is standing by the entrance, one arm wrapped around a change of clothes, the other resting on the doorframe. The look in his yellow eyes is bright, but exhausted.

He clears his throat, hopes his voice comes out steady. "Did you just get back?"

The other boy blinks. "Yeah," he answers, reaching behind him to slide the door closed. He walks over to the shelves, sets his clothes down and begins undressing. "The centre's been having some water problems lately, so I couldn't shower there. You're bathing quite late, though."

It takes him a moment to process what he's hearing, because Tanba is currently far too busy staring at the other boy's naked back. Blood floods his cheeks as he tears his gaze away, and he is eternally grateful that Chris has his back turned to him. "I-I needed some quiet," he says, busying his hands with folding his clothes. "To think."

"Oh." He hears the catcher pause. "Everything alright?"

_No._ "Yes." Tanba swallows hard around that initial response, and doesn't dare look up. "Just tired. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"It really is tough being the ace, huh?"

He hums in agreement, finishes folding, and despairs. Now he doesn't have anything to distract himself with.

"Tanba."

He looks up, remembers too late that the other boy is currently shirtless, and forgets to breathe.

Chris is giving him a small, reassuring smile, head tilted slightly to one side. "If you ever need to talk," he says, "I'm willing to listen."

It's too much.

For years, that is exactly what Tanba has been trying to tell _him._ Over and over, only to be rebuffed by cold eyes and stony detachment. Months of agonising over an injury they can't discuss. Months of watching from afar as Chris ruffles Sawamura's hair, allows himself be dragged along by the first year's enthusiasm, laughing with him.

Something inside him snaps, and he surges forward, barrelling straight into the other boy, because it's too much, and _how dare he._

He pushes Chris back, ignores the pained grunt as they slam into the wooden shelves, his fingers curled around the other boy's arms. _'It's not fair,'_ he thinks, as he stares down at the catcher, sees the mixture of emotions in his eyes-shock, pain.

Confusion.

"Tanba," the catcher says.

"It's not fair," he breathes, grits his teeth when his voice cracks.

Chris looks up at him, his yellow eyes wide. "What?"

"I was always there for you," he says, and suddenly the words are pouring off his tongue in a rush, all those years of pent-up emotion finally unclenching as he lets his guard down. "I waited. All this time. You can't just. I mean, I tried to help. I'm sorry I couldn't, but I tried, and it isn't _fair,_ damn it!"

"Tanba, calm down." Even now, Chris is being gentle, even though Tanba has him pinned in place, has his arms trapped in a grip tight enough to bruise. "I don't understand."

He kisses him. Leans forward and mashes their lips together. The ache in his chest is hot and hungry and it hurts, has been hurting for so long that Tanba can't think straight. Underneath him, Chris goes completely still, feels his body tense up, and his lips part in surprise for the briefest of seconds.

Tanba pushes at that gap with his tongue, swallows the shivers racking down his spine. He licks at the roof of his mouth, the sharp of his teeth, and it feels so _good._

But then Chris is fighting back, pushing at his chest frantically. One particular shove is hard enough to send him back half-a-step, and Chris gasps, panting for breath. "What are you-"

Tanba kisses him again, and again, and again. Wedges a leg between the other boy's thighs, and shifts his entire weight forward. He feels Chris curl a fist in his shirt, feels his other hand pushing at his neck, his face. Tanba bites down on his lower lip, slides a hand across the other boy's abdomen, his whole body twitching with want.

Chris yelps, turns his head sideways and breaks the kiss, one hand dropping to grip Tanba's wrist. So he moves to Chris' cheek, mouths at the curve of his ear, bites his earlobe. He hears the catcher inhale sharply; heat pools in Tanba's stomach, and he leans down, following the line of his neck. He can taste sweat on the other boy's skin, and for some reason, it is absolutely _delicious._ He presses closer, wanting something, wanting more.

"Tanba, please stop."

And he freezes. His heart slams to a halt, and his entire being goes cold. Slowly, he leans back, keeping his gaze fixed on the other boy's face.

Chris is breathing hard, his head turned to one side, his cheeks flushed; his eyes are squeezed shut, and remain closed. He's trembling.

When Tanba looks down, the catcher's knuckles are white, and his fingers are shaking.

He jerks away, stumbling backwards, and nearly trips over his own feet. He feels sick, can taste bile at the back of his throat, and he can't quite breathe right.

Chris still won't look at him.

Tanba runs.


	2. but that's okay

**Life is Never Fair 02 - but that's okay**

He's halfway to his room when he thinks better of it.

Turning in the other direction, Tanba runs past the dormitories, past the baseball fields and out into the dark night. He runs until his lungs burn and his head swims from oxygen debt, and then he keeps running until he collapses onto the grass, scrapes his knees on pebbles and sticks and whatever else it is he can't be bothered to look out for.

And then, when there's nothing left for him to do, he cries.

* * *

At some point-after what must have been hours, kneeling in the dark in the middle of nowhere-he picks himself up, and begins the slow walk back to the dorms. His roommates are already asleep by the time he gets back, so he makes his way carefully over to his bed, as quiet as possible, and crawls under the blanket.

Sleep is impossible. He's exhausted beyond belief, and his chest aches worse than ever before, but every time he closes his eyes, he sees-

_Shuttered eyes, and pale, trembling fingers. And the distance between them growing wider, despite being so close._

Tanba lies awake all night, staring up at the ceiling and drowning in self-loathing.

Come dawn, he still feels like shit.

* * *

Morning practice is torture. Every step he takes towards the field is heavy with guilt and fatigue. He can barely look anyone in the eye, and spends the entire time resolutely _not_ looking for Chris, _not_ straining to hear his voice, and praying for it to end.

During class, he can barely stay awake. By the second period, he's staring blankly at the teacher, trying to understand what she's saying and failing miserably. By the third, he's feeling so sick that he asks to be excused to visit the infirmary. The teacher takes one look at him, and nods, and Tanba is certain he looks as horrible as he feels.

The doctor checks his temperature and tells him to rest for the remainder of the day. It's the best news he's heard all week, and he lies down eagerly.

Except.

The memory of last night still haunts him, angry, accusing, and Tanba ends up in the bathroom, flushing his breakfast down the toilet bowl.

He has no recollection of how he makes it to practice that afternoon, only that he is winding up in the bullpen, and he is pitching _horribly._ After he messes up his fifth-sixth? Tenth?-curveball, Miyauchi stands and walks over.

"Are you sick?" he asks, blunt and straight to the point.

Tanba exhales, tries to suck in a deep breath to clear his mind. Every fibre of his being wants to scream 'yes,' but that traitorous, stubborn puff of pride in his chest stops him at the last second, and he swallows. "I'm fine," he says instead.

"You're not," the catcher replies. "I think you need to take a break."

"No, I don't. Let me try that curveball again."

The other boy sighs loudly, and places a firm hand on his shoulder. "Tanba. Take a break. I'll catch Kawakami's pitches for a while."

Tanba tries to protest, but Miyauchi is already beckoning towards the second-year, and anything else he says at this point will only make a scene. He heads for the dugout, ignoring the questioning glances of his teammates, and sits down in one corner with his head in his hands. It makes him furious, resting while the rest of the team is training so hard, as if he can afford the luxury of taking it easy with the tournament coming up; it also feels like a huge relief, because the dugout is far, far away from where the first-year pitchers are training, and where Chris is.

* * *

The next few days pass in a similar fashion. One minute he's struggling to get through the day, and the next he's lying awake in bed, wishing tomorrow will never come. His performance suffers too, deteriorating like it has never before. He pitches ball after ball and hates every minute of it; hates the way Miyauchi watches him from the sideline, radiating wordless concern; hates the way Miyuki's features scrunch up tight, as if he's holding back laughter. He hates the way Jun smacks his back, gruff and loud; hates the way Ryousuke walks past him in silence; hates the way Tetsu watches him, his expression grim.

He doesn't know how Chris reacts, because he still can't bring himself to look.

It continues like that until his body can't take it anymore-until he throws a pitch so bad it ends up flying straight for Miyuki's face. The second-year jerks out of the way, his reflexes as lightning sharp as ever, and his mitt comes up protectively in front of his right cheek.

The ball rushes past the catcher and slams into the wire fence surrounding the bullpen.

There is a brief moment of silence.

Miyuki moves first, standing up and walking over to him.

Tanba feels ill. "Sorry," he manages roughly, touching the tip of his cap as the other boy approaches, but he can't quite say any more than that.

"Tanba-san," the catcher says, "you haven't been throwing your best lately. Is something bothering you?"

For a moment, he's convinced he misheard. When he realises he hasn't, it's twice as shocking.

That Miyuki, the biggest asshole he has ever met, is showing concern for his well-being-it's unbelievable.

_No,_ he thinks immediately after. Miyuki is a catcher, and they have a practice match in three days. Miyuki is concerned about his victory; he doesn't give a damn about Tanba. Why would he? In fact, this might be better. With Tanba out of the picture, Furuya automatically makes starting pitcher. And if his stamina gives out, there's always Sawamura, and Kawakami even. The inquiry isn't born from concern, but from necessity. Get to the root of the problem, tell the coach, and Miyuki doesn't ever have to deal with him again.

"Tanba-san?"

He stares at Miyuki, at his down-turned lips and his narrowed eyes, and can't see past his own thoughts.

_Come on_, he hears. _If you can't pitch like an ace, you don't deserve the mound._

Tanba blinks once, hard, trying to will that voice away.

_Step down, already. Give it to someone else._

"Hey-"

Tanba opens his eyes and swings at him.

He misses by a fraction of a breath; Miyuki ducks away almost instinctively, as if his body is reacting to it long before his mind even processes what's happening. He takes a few steps back, tucking his chin to his chest, and looks at Tanba with wide, wary eyes.

"Oi!" someone yells, from far away, but he hardly hears it because he's already stepping forward, twisting to throw a second punch-

When someone barrels straight into him, and knocks him to the ground.

Tanba lands on his back, and his throwing arm is mostly spared from the horrible pain that shoots through his entire body. Hands grab onto his shoulders and press down firmly. When he looks up, Miyauchi is staring down at him. "Calm down," he says.

He doesn't fight back, lets his whole body go limp on the grass. He closes his eyes, concentrating only on the sound of his own breathing, and lets the world fall away.

When he comes round, a small crowd has gathered at the scene. He can feel the sharp edges of protective gear digging into the sides of his thighs and his stomach. He takes in a deep breath, exhales slowly.

"Okay?" Miyauchi asks.

Tanba nods.

The catcher gets up, and, after a brief pause, offers him a hand. He accepts it and lets himself be pulled to his feet. The world swims dizzyingly for a few seconds before he manages to blink it back into focus. Then he takes another deep breath, bracing himself, before he dares to look around.

A number of faces gaze back, each wearing varying degrees of concerned expressions. Most of the crowd consists of the third-year starters, but he finds Miyuki near the edge, half-hidden behind Kuramochi, who has angled his body in front of the catcher, his lips curled in fury. Tanba feels his stomach churn at that, even more so when he spots Miyuki's neutral expression, without a trace of his earlier shock, and knows, deep down, that he's crossed a line he never even knew existed.

"Tanba," Yuuki says, all rigid authority. "I think you owe Miyuki an apology."

"Yes," he says, taking off his cap. This time Tanba forces himself to bend at the waist, bowing low. "I'm very sorry."

Miyuki doesn't answer immediately, and Tanba remains resolutely down until the other boy speaks.

"Well." His tone is bright and cheery. When Tanba looks up, the catcher is grinning. "Everyone has bad days."

Tanba hesitates, fumbles for words. "That's no excuse. I shouldn't. I shouldn't have done that."

"Then maybe you should tell us what's wrong." Miyuki says, and Tanba feels his body stiffen. "It's not like you've been hiding it very well anyway, so you might as well as come out and say it."

He looks away, avoiding everyone's gaze. It feels suffocating, being trapped in a circle like this, with no way out. "It's nothing."

Someone makes an explosive sound of frustration, and then Isashiki says, "Don't give us that crap!"

"Jun," Tetsu says warningly.

But the vice-captain has already moved forward, and seizes Tanba by the collar, shaking him roughly. "Something's wrong, and it's obviously serious enough to mess with your pitching. We have a game in a few days, and everyone needs to be playing at your best. _You_ need to be at your best," he says, emphasising that by yanking on Tanba's shirt until they are standing eye-to-eye. "So hurry up and talk to us already! We can't help if you won't talk, damn it!"

"Let him go, Jun."

"Not until he gets his shit together and tells us what's wrong," he hisses, his breath hot on Tanba's face.

He tries to pull away, but the grip on his clothes only tighten. "It's nothing," he repeats. "I'm fine."

Isashiki, impossibly so, only becomes angrier. "If you don't stop spouting crap right now, I'm going to beat the living hell out of you!"

This time, the captain's warning is more urgent. _"Jun."_

A hand settles around Isashiki's right fist. "Let go," Chris says, quietly and firmly. Tanba goes very, very still, and stops breathing.

Isashiki hesitates, then deflates slightly. "Chris, you know something's been off with him. Everyone does. We can't let this go on any longer."

"I know," he says, and here he glances at Tanba. When their eyes meet, Tanba looks away instantly, nausea collecting at the back of his throat. "And I think I know why."

That makes his entire being go cold, as fear takes hold of him. _He'll tell them, _he thinks, feeling the world tilt dangerously to one side. _Everyone will know. It's over._

"You do?" Isashiki asks, releasing his hold. "Why didn't you say anything earlier? We've all been worried sick!"

"It's complicated."

Tanba's heart jolts painfully in his chest, and the begins pounding away haphazardly. He looks down, his whole body tense, as he waits for Chris to tell them everything.

"Let me handle this."

Tanba swallows a gasp, and raises his gaze. Isashiki looks surprised, and that expression is mirrorred on nearly every other face in the crowd. The vice-captain has his mouth half-open in protest, but Yuuki speaks up first. "Alright," he says. "We'll leave it to you."

"What?" Isashiki sputters, turning to stare at the captain, but the other boy is already moving back to the field.

"Everyone else, back to practice."

"But-"

_"Now."_

And just like that, the crowd slowly disperses. Tanba glances to the side, and sees Miyuki walking towards the dugout; he catches Kuramochi glaring openly, radiating fury still. Guilt churns his stomach, and Tanba looks away.

Chris waits until the two of them are the only ones left in the bullpen before speaking. "Come with me."

The catcher walks past him, out of the gate and off the field. Tanba blinks a few times, still confused, but he follows.

They walk in complete silence. He maintains a safe distance behind the other boy at all times; Chris doesn't look back even once.

When they stop-halfway down the path to school, with sloping hills of green on either side of them-Chris sits down on the grass with a sigh.

Tanba hesitates, waiting for the catcher to speak. When nothing seems forthcoming, he takes a seat himself, careful not to get too close, and draws his knees up. He stares into his lap, heartbeat loud in his ears.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity has passed, Chris says, "We need to talk about what happened the other day."

He clenches his teeth, swallowing hard, and fails to not remember. The memory comes unbidden, unwanted, and Tanba drops his head onto his knees, hating every minute of it.

"I think you need to tell me what that was."

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks bitterly, blinking back the treacherous wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Chris hesitates. "Still," he continues, "I need to hear it from you. It has to be clear."

"Clear," Tanba repeats hollowly, feeling completely drained. "Alright. I'll be _clear._" He takes a deep breath, watches the way his fingers curl into fists, feels his nails digging into the skin of his palm.

Then, he forces himself to look up, to meet the gaze of the boy he has admired for years, always from a distance, always in silence; the one he has wronged so terribly.

"I like you," he breathes, the words coming out no louder than a whisper as he finally gives voice to this truth he's been denying all along. "As more than a friend. For a while now."

Chris' expression turns pained, but he doesn't look away. "How long?" he asks, his own voice even quiter than usual.

"Since we were first years," he admits.

Chris inhales sharply at that, and passes a hand over his eyes. "I never knew."

"You had other things on your mind," Tanba told him, finally allowing himself to look away, back to the dark afternoon sky. The clouds hang about in puffy groups, fat and content in a world of their own, free of expectations and feelings and selfish want.

"Even so, I should have noticed earlier. All this time and I just...I'm sorry."

That startles him, and he jerks his head around so fast that his neck cracks. "No, don't," he starts, feeling worse than before. "Don't apologise. I'm the one-I should-why haven't you hit me yet?" he demands, a surge of anger flaring in his chest.

Chris stares at him blankly, as if the idea never even occurred to him.

"I, I forced myself on you," Tanba says, and the admission makes his skin crawl, makes his stomach heave with the threat of vomit. "You should hate me. You should be kicking the crap out of me. Or breaking my nose. Or taking me off the team. Or, or _something!_ Why are you just sitting here, talking to me!?"

It takes Chris a while to answer. He straightens, looking away, staring into empty space. The expression on his face turns cautiously pensive, and he frowns slightly. Tanba can't bring himself to look away; his heart is hammering in his chest, and right now, he needs an answer more than he's ever needed anything else in his entire life.

"Because you're my friend," Chris finally says. "And I want to understand. Because," he pauses, inhaling deeply, and the next few words come out very, very quiet, "because you stopped when I asked you to."

All his thoughts come to a grinding halt.

Chris looks away. "I'm not saying what you did was alright. It. It wasn't. And I don't think I can forget it so easily. But it looked to me," he says, hesitating, "like you were hurting."

Tanba doesn't respond.

He breathes out a sigh, running a hand absently through his hair. "That time, you mentioned some stuff about last year-"

"I shouldn't have said that," he says immediately, wincing when he remembers his clumsy words.

"No, it's alright. Please let me finish."

Tanba pauses, and then nods.

"We've known each other for over two years now, and I've always enjoyed your company. I mean, I thought we got along well enough. Still do. But my injury," he says, one hand coming up to touch his right shoulder, "is something I'm still coming to terms with. I'm sorry if, by not wanting to discuss it, I offended you. That wasn't my intention. I just...didn't know how else to deal with it."

A cool breeze sweeps by them, and Tanba thinks he can smell grass on the wind. "I know it was difficult for you. I just wanted-I wish I had been able to help somehow." _Like Sawamura did,_ he almost says, but that's not a direction he wants this conversation to take right now, so he keeps it to himself.

Chris hums softly in acknowledgement. "I don't think there was anything anyone could have done. But I appreciate it. Thank you." He blinks a few times, as if trying to gather his thoughts. "My point is that I like being friends with you, but I can't return your feelings. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he says, feeling the flush in his cheeks. "I knew you didn't. Wouldn't. That's why I didn't want to say anything. I just don't know why I...did it. And I'm the one who should be apologising." Tanba shifts a little, enough that he can make his third bow of the day, and the most heartfelt. "I'm very sorry for what I did. I won't ask you to forgive me, or try to pretend that nothing happened. But I want you to know that it won't ever happen again. Ever. Please believe me."

"I do," he replies simply.

Neither of them say anything after that, and a fluff of silence descends upon them. Tanba moves again, so now they're both facing the grassy plains, each lost in their own thoughts.

It's not over yet, not quite. He knows there's still something left, one last set of words that need to be let loose into this fragile, remade space between them. It isn't easy. In fact, it's probably the most difficult thing he has to say during this entire conversation.

But it needs to be said, and now is the time.

"So," he begins and stops, the words catching in his throat. He swallows heavily, forcing them out in an unsteady voice. "So. Does this mean...you don't hate me?"

Chris turns, meets his gaze, and holds it. "Tanba," he says gently, his lips curling in the tiniest of smiles, tinged with a hint of something soft. "Of course I don't hate you."

He exhales heavily. That tight knot clenched in the center of his chest unravels in a rush, and the heavy burden that sits deep in his shoulders melt away completely. When he sucks in a deep breath, it fills his lungs with cool, fresh air; he has not felt this light in a very long time. He blinks, and his vision suddenly turns blurry.

Chris remains quiet throughout, but his silence is not unkind. They sit like that for a long time; until Tanba's shoulders stop shaking, and he manages to steady his breathing; until he's convinced he's used up a lifetime's supply of tears; until the afternoon sky turns a deep shade of orange, lightly dusted with grey.

Then, and only then, does Chris stand. "Come on," he says as he holds out a hand, and the expression on his face is younger, from simpler times and faded memories-a soft look in his eyes, and that sweet comforting smile on his lips. "Let's head back."

Tanba takes a moment for himself, memorising this brief snapshot in his life so he can preserve the image in his mind's gallery for all the years to come. A reminder; a gift.

And then, he clasps Chris' hand, stands next to him, and murmurs, "Thanks."

* * *

That night, he sleeps for six whole hours. It is the best rest he's had in months.

* * *

During practice, he pitches perfectly.

A few days after, he throws for all nine innings, and the score ends with 10-8 in Seidou's favour. The entire team cheers, and the fielders run forward, throwing praises at each other, slapping hands and laughing under the burning heat of summer.

Walking towards the dugout, he takes off his cap, and wipes the sweat from his brow with edge of his sleeve.

"Good work, Tanba."

He stops, looks up in surprise. Chris is sitting at the table, his pen poised in one hand, and he's wearing a small encouraging smile.

Before he knows it, Tanba is smiling back, and all he feels is,

Warmth.


End file.
